


a feather is a ton of bricks.

by eoghainy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 6x03 broke me, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, the works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-30 12:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: there's magic in our bones; a north star in our souls.





	1. i don't have a script for this.

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 
> 
> hi my name is SARA and i have to write about these two gays 
> 
> so many drabbles
> 
> so many things
> 
> just
> 
> idk u shall see

 

 

> _— but i know the right words exist. "_

“You’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question. Pausing, Aaron stood with his hand against the doorframe, jaw clenching. He could hear the heaviness in Eric’s voice, hear the depravity. This was going to spark a fight, he knew, and though he didn’t want to argue _now_ at all times, he couldn’t back down.

“It’s fight or die, Eric.” He answers, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m choosing to fight.” Though he tried to sound confident, his confidence unfortunately wavered. People were going to die. He could die. 

Eric closed his eyes, physically looking as if he were in pain. “You know there are other options for survival.” He whispered, coppery brows furrowing. “You _know_ we could . . . find another way. Find another way to survive.”

“You mean leave?” Aaron’s voice grows sharp, and he winces when he sees Eric’s eyes fly open, a fire stirring in their dark depths. “Alexandria is our home, Eric,” he started gently, forestalling Eric’s protests, “and I am not leaving it. Not for anything. I will fight until I can’t fight anymore.”

“That’s how you’re always getting hurt!” Eric snapped, though there was no animosity in his voice. Only exhaustion. “Aaron . . . Negan, the _Saviors_ — we can’t win. Not even with Rick at our backs. Alexandria is not a fighting force. We had to learn that the hard way.”

“Do you not believe in him?” Aaron challenged, taking a step towards Eric. “Do you not _believe_ in what he wants to fight for? What we _all_ want to fight for? Alexandria can _become_ a fighting force. Enough of us have the capabilities to. We just have to put our minds to it. It’s something you have to believe in, Eric.” 

“I do! I do, I just think it’s a suicide mission.” Eric defended himself, not budging from his opinion. “How many more of us have to die?” He demanded. “How many more of us need to be struck down before peace is finally sought?”

Fatigue crept over Aaron like an icy wave as he strode forward, taking Eric’s face into his hands and pressing their foreheads together. The action was familiar, tender, something that the two of them did whenever the other was being ridiculous. Eric’s breath hitched, and a familiar stirring began in Aaron’s abdomen. But he pushed it away fighting as hard as he could to ignore it. Sex wouldn’t solve their differences. It hadn’t in the past, and it wouldn’t now.

But God knows did they try.

“I have to fight.” Aaron whispered, trying to make Eric see. Both of their eyes were closed as they basked in each other’s presence, reveling in the closeness that they shared. Angry words and harsh feelings washed away just at their minor touches, and it was something that Aaron absolutely adored about their relationship. It was something special that they shared.

Eric’s hands were warm as they cupped Aaron’s cheeks, the pads of his fingers gently brushing against the facial hair that Aaron had neglected to shave.

“ _Keep it!_ ” Eric had said one day when Aaron had mentioned something about how he wanted to shave it. “ _I like it. I think it suits you. Gives you a rugged look, y’know_.” And then it was settled. Facial hair was Aaron’s newest thing to be proud of. As long as Eric liked it, then he liked it.

“What if you don’t come back?” Eric’s question was fair, and it broke Aaron to hear it come from his mouth. That one question had always been one that remained unspoken back when they were both recruiting, but now it was as valid as any. What _if_ Aaron didn’t come back? 

“I fight because I get to come back to you. I get to come back to love and I get to see _you_. You give me strength.” He pressed a closed mouth kiss to Eric’s lips, lingering for a heartbeat or two before pulling away, a shaky breath leaving him. 

“I’m coming with you.” Eric’s voice was firm, as if Aaron had shared his strength when they touched lips. 

“No,” Aaron shook his head, his tone defensive. “ _Absolutely_ not.”

“If you fight, I fight. We fight _together_.” Eric countered, stubbornly locking his jaw and refusing to tear his gaze away. When he realized he wasn’t going to win, Aaron swore, horrific images already running through his mind. Gunshot wounds. Walker bites. Eric beaten to death. Eric getting torn apart. Eric —

“Together, Aaron,” Eric pressed, pulling him from his thoughts. “We’re a team, remember? We stick together.” 

“I can’t lose you.” The closest he had come to losing Eric was when he officially met Rick and his crew, when his boyfriend had suffered from breaking his ankle. That had been close enough for Aaron’s tastes. “I can’t _ever_ lose you.” 

Eric rolled his eyes, but Aaron knew that Eric felt the same. “What do you think I felt like every time you walked out that door, out into the wide open, always with some new task, always leaving me behind? It drove me mad. I always had to sit myself, always thinking that something bad would happen to you. The only solace I had was that you were with Daryl, but even then . . .” Eric’s voice faded. “At least now we’ll have each other.” He sounded stronger now, his eyes clear.

Aaron’s stomach twisted at the idea of Eric getting hurt on his watch. Or worse, _killed_. Unable to find the words to respond and suddenly desperate to feel Eric against him, warm and alive, Aaron closed the distance between the two of them with a passionate kiss. One that Eric didn’t seem to have any qualms with, seeing as how it didn’t even take more than a second for him to respond.

Fire sparked within them both. Teeth accidentally nipped at lips whilst tongues brushed, both reluctant to pull away, even for the need to breathe. Aaron tried to guide them to the best of his ability to the nearest wall, which probably was the doorframe that led to their bedroom. In their desperation to remain connected, to stay touching, neither wanted to break apart in order to actually pay attention to where they were going.

Eric let out a sharp breath as his back met with the nearest wall, breaking apart only momentarily before Eric regained his breath. The fox – haired male was the one who surged forward, reconnecting their lips with no hesitation. Eric’s hands moved from Aaron’s cheeks to grip his flannel shirt, pulling both their bodies flush. Aaron let out a grunt at that, but relished in the warmth that Eric had to offer.

No words filled the silence. The only sounds were of their harsh breathing, of their gasps and exhalations, of the rustle of clothes. Long fingers were tangled in long corkscrew curls again — ones that weren’t as close trimmed as they once were — and shaking hands slipped underneath a baggy shirt to feel the lean body that was as familiar as his own. Calloused fingers groped along a lean abdomen, traversing upwards, not wanting to engage in sex to avoid the hard discussions. They were adults, they could handle their problems as such.

Yet, it was only too tempting to stay molded to Eric. His boyfriend shifted restlessly underneath him, the growing bulge in his pants brushing temptingly against Aaron’s. The promise to restrain himself was forgotten, as he broke the kiss only to latch onto Eric’s white throat, hazily noting the freckles that dusted along his collarbones. He wanted to commit every image of his boyfriend to memory, so that he would never ever forget him. What he looked like, what he sounded like . . .

“Don’t you ever leave me.” Aaron whispered hoarsely against Eric’s throat, opening his eyes to make sure that his boyfriend understood that this wasn’t just about their relationship — it was about life and death. “Don’t you ever think about it.” Lust – filled blue met with serious brown.

“What, and miss out on your confessions of love whenever you feel that it’s necessary?” Eric’s eyes glimmered, and his cheeks were flushed. His lips were swollen from their lip lock. “I wouldn’t ever _dream_ of it.” 

“Good.” A weight seemed to be pulled off Aaron’s shoulders. “Good.” He repeated, kissing Eric again, this time filled with more urgency than lust. The only thing he wanted was to be as close as possible to him.

He loved Eric with every fiber of his being.

Aaron didn’t think he would ever survive losing him.


	2. there's nothing to forgive.

 

> _—_ _i always thought you would come back to me. ''_

Hands grip the steering wheel, bloody fingers tight around the leather. Dull eyes stared through the grimy windshield, taking in his surroundings but not really _seeing_. He was functioning upon autopilot, unable to process. Grief mingled with the numbness caused by shock was a poisonous blend for him. Always one that was based upon rational thinking and being able to read people, shock was dangerous.

The gurgle of an infant brought him back. Jumping, as if he were startled, Aaron looked over at the creature in the seat beside him. Rick had helped him create a make – shift car seat for her, but he wasn’t going too fast. It was just to ensure that she wouldn’t wriggle all over the car.

“Hey,” he rasped, taking his right hand off the steering wheel and putting it within her reach. Her chubby fists enclosed around his bloody thumb, her drool coating his nail. She was watching him carefully, her eyes dark pools of brown, bordering upon black.

A choked sound left Aaron as he turned his attention back on the road, unable to bear looking at her. Her eyes looked too much like Eric’s. He couldn’t . . .

“Is that your only name, Gracie?” As if she could answer him, he checked, his voice heavy with grief. “We don’t know your parents, so that’s what we gotta assume.” Aaron babbled on to fill the silence. “I don’t think anyone will mind if I add onto it, do you?” 

He looked at her, a fleeting glance, not wanting to meet those eyes again.

“I think I’m gonna call you Gracie Erica Raleigh,” without looking, he brushed his thumb along her soft cheek, shoulders hunched. It was the only way he could think of now to preserve Eric’s memory. 

Or, at least, _his_ memory of Eric.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Gracie Erica Raleigh . . . You aren’t our kid, but you have his eyes. You have his fucking _eyes_.”

Aaron had to pull over after that, hunching over against the steering wheel with his head buried in his hands. Dry sobs ripped through him, and though his eyes were screwed up, not one tear fell. He was all cried out. Shoulders shook as eventually, _eventually_ , his sobs faded off into uneven breathing and wet sniffling. A headache throbbed behind his skull and he longed to sleep, longed to get his hands upon a bottle of booze to soothe the path to a dreamless rest, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t self – destruct. Eric wouldn’t want that for him.

Gracie, too, was too important to do that. She was his current objective; not the war with Negan, not getting his hands upon a gun. Just Gracie. The infant was what he needed to stay objectified.

Hopefully, they’d be able to help each other in the long run.


	3. show me a garden that's bursting into life.

 

> _— i need your grace, to remind me to find my own. ''_

She bounced well on his knee. 

Loosely, Aaron’s hands were underneath her little armpits, fingers gently resting against her chest. His affectionate gaze was locked upon her, lips pursed, listening to her bubbling laughter.

“Is my little Gracie safe in there?” A second voice called from the kitchen, and Aaron looked over in that general direction. He could see a flash of his husband’s shirt as he disappeared back into the kitchen all the way on the other side of the apartment. There was some clattering that followed, and Aaron figured that Eric was pulling out the pots to make dinner. 

“Gracie is fine,” Aaron soothed, lightly kissing the crown of his daughter’s head. Her fine hair tickled his nose. “She’s only too happy to be able to play.”

Eric snorted, his voice sounding closer. “She can play when she’s with _me_!” 

“You’re a paranoid parent; she can never have too much fun when with you.” Aaron continued to bounce his knee, gently letting her flop around as if she were boneless. She giggled loudly, her dark eyes — so akin to Eric’s — were bright with nothing but happiness. Always, Aaron felt a fierce surge of love for her whenever she came into his line of sight.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Aaron turned to see Eric coming into the living room. Affectionately, the fox – haired broker leaned down, brushing his nose against Aaron’s. Aaron stole a quick kiss, gently plucking Gracie up off his knee once they broke apart. With minimal effort, he handed her to his husband, checking to make sure that Eric had a good hold on her before he took his hands away. As much as he trusted his husband, the safety of his daughter was always going to come first.

Crooning, Eric cradled her against his chest, peppering her face with kisses. She made a gurgling noise, patting at his face with her chubby hands, not wanting him to be so close.

“See? She likes me better.” Aaron reached up and ruffled the fine hair on her head, having to untangle his fingers from one of her corkscrew curls, so akin to his.

“She’s biased because she’s _your_ daughter.” Eric muttered, but he loved Gracie just as much as any parent would love their child.

Three years ago, about a year after they got married, they both decided that they wanted kids. Because Aaron had left the NGO in order to work closer to home, and Eric had left as well to become a stock broker, they had managed to save up a bit of money. Adoption had seemed like a fine option at first, but Eric wanted at least _one_ of them to pass on their genes, so they turned their gazes to a surrogate mother.

After a few months of searching for the perfect woman, they eventually came to the decision that Aaron would be the biological father. They found a woman with pale ginger hair, freckles, and dark eyes. Her genetic history was pretty fair, and she seemed to be a nice person every time that Aaron and Eric met with her. They got to know her well whilst she carried Aaron’s baby — _their_ baby — and gave birth to little Gracie seven months later.

Gracie had been a premature baby, born far too early. She had been very sick, kept in the prenatal unit in the hospital in close view of the nurses for four months. Every single day, Aaron and Eric had sat with her, desperate to see that their baby pulled through. By five months, she was a strong little girl that was able to go home with her fathers under the condition that they keep a _very_ close eye on her, just in case she started to decline.

“Don’t be resentful,” Aaron chided. “My curls are the hardest to find in another person.”

“Because they’re just so _long_ and perfect. Damn those corkscrew curls, Aaron Raleigh.” Eric rolled his eyes. “If I had had them instead, then she’d be all mine.”

“Are we forgetting that we’re a team here?” Aaron gasped in mock surprise. “Don’t you be selfish, Eric! She may be my biological daughter, but she’s _our_ child.” Bright blues glimmered with amusement. “At least her hair is starting to come in ginger, like yours.”

It was true; Gracie’s own mock – corkscrew curls were ginger in shade. Not quite as dramatic as Eric’s fox – shaded hair, but who knows? Maybe in a few years she’d be giving her father a run for his money.

“Do you think that maybe one day, we could do it again?” Eric asked abruptly. He seemed oddly serious about it as he cradled their drowsy daughter in his arms, not pulling his dark gaze away from her.

“What, have a surrogate mother again and have another kid?” Aaron checked, wanting to be sure that this is what Eric wanted.

“Yeah. We could save up money again, we certainly both make enough.” Finally, Eric’s gaze lifted from Gracie. Compassion and love shone in their liquid depths. “You know, only if you want to. We both have to be in agreement to raise another kid.”

Aaron tipped his head thoughtfully. “Babe,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “I think that we should wait, just a little bit. Gracie is still young — we both are still working to make up for the time we took off.” Worry flared in Eric’s eyes, and Aaron forestalled whatever he was going to say. “I think it’s a good idea to have in the future. You know, have one of each; a little boy and a little girl. One that looks like you, one that looks like me. It should be a project down the road, once we’ve managed to recover. We can start looking for a surrogate now, but I certainly don’t think adding another child to the picture at this very moment is a wise idea.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed with consideration. For a moment, he remained quiet, then nodded. Excitement lit up his expression, and Aaron was thankful that his words had gotten through to him. 

Sometimes, Eric could be so wrapped up in his own excitement that he would be willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted, no matter what situation it would leave them in after. It was why he and Eric worked so well together; whilst Eric was a silver – tongued dreamer, Aaron was a diplomatic realist who tried to bring equilibrium to the world.

“That’s a fair plan, a good one.” Eric approved, nodding. A beautiful smile spread across his lips. “Let me go put Gracie down for a nap, and then we can talk this out more . . .”

‘Talk’ was definitely code for Let’s-Have-Wild-Sex-Right-Here-On-This-Couch-And- _Then_ -Talk-About-Having-Another-Kid. Rolling his eyes as Eric headed off towards Gracie’s room, Aaron pulled his shirt off, just to save his husband the time when he got back.


	4. every sunday is getting more bleak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had an idea & i lk ran with it : o 
> 
> also !! i just wanna give a HUGE thanks to everyone who basically just appeared over night ?? like holy shit, i never expected for so many people to enjoy this and to leave their kudos and comments. y'all are perfect, okay? i appreciate you all so very much !! <3

> _— fresh poison each week. ''_

Hilltop.

The gates began to show in the distance, identifiable amongst all the shades of greens, yellows, oranges and reds. Unconsciously, his foot eased off the gas, grief surging up within him. He wasn’t ready to face the people of the Hilltop, wasn’t ready to look into Maggie’s compassionate eyes and tell her everything that had happened. 

They could relate to each other, certainly they could. Maggie had watched Glenn die, been powerless to stop it. Aaron had helped Eric get away, but had been completely and utterly powerless to help him. Maybe if he had stayed, rather than joined the fight — maybe if he had stayed right beside Eric he could have saved him. Could have . . . prevented him from becoming what he had become. 

Beside him, in her makeshift car seat, Gracie cooed. Aaron looked at her from the corner of his eye, seeing that her hands were held high above her head, her young mind being occupied by her wiggling fingers. His heart clenched with the knowledge that this girl was a victim of the damn war. He didn’t quite know how her parents had perished, and fuck, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want the endless abyss of guilt to swell and get even worse.

Though he longed to stall the car, to just sit on the road with his head leaning against the steering wheel and eyes closed for a little while, he knew he had to face the eager faces of those who had stayed behind. He could already hear their questioning cries as they wondered why he had returned by himself and with a child. 

_“How did it go?”_

_“Why are you alone?”_

_“Where did that baby come from?”_

_“Aaron, where’s Eric?”_

_“Did you guys win?”_

_“Where are the guns!”_

_"When will Rick and the others be back?”_

He didn’t even know how he could answer them. The one thing he didn’t want to see were their pitying stares, their sad gazes watching him, ready to dash in and help him when he fell apart. He could feel their hands touching his shoulders, their voices whispering in his ears, telling him that he’d survive; that he’d be alright, and that he would make it through this.

Aaron didn’t want that. 

One of the things he _definitely_ didn’t want to see was the pity in Maggie’s eyes. The woman whom had been dubbed as _The Widow_ knew what it felt like to lose. Those eyes of hers would retain a note of sympathy and compassion, and her voice, so southern, would try to relate to him. And Aaron, powerless to do much else than listen to her, would succumb to the breakdown that pushed at his fraying edges of control, ready to become vulnerable and let Maggie see the depth of his pain.

Defeated, Aaron gathered what was left of his resolve and pulled up to the gates, flashing a worried look at Gracie when she seemed to make a choking noise. She laughed when she met his gaze, and he relaxed, glad that she was okay.

Enid, whom seemed to be manning the gates, peered into the windshield through her binoculars and called something out. It took a moment, but the gates opened, and Aaron drove through, all the while composing himself to the best of his ability.

He took his time gathering Gracie from the car, opening the door, and stepping back out into the humid air. All different types of faces were turned onto him, watching him with hungry stares as they silently questioned what had happened. Maggie was among them, her sharp gaze spotting the blood on his hands, on his shirt, and the defeated droop of Aaron’s shoulders. She did not speak, but her arched brows invited him to. 

“We won,” he rasped at last, seeing how the Hilltop’s people turned to each other in excitement. “No guns were found.”

A glimmer of worry flashed in Maggie’s eyes, but it was gone too fast for Aaron to comment on it. 

“Tobin got shot. Francine died. Eric . . .” Grief surged through him once more, and he turned his face away, wishing that he could melt into the ground right then and there. A soft exhale from Maggie caught his attention, and he did all that he could to ignore it. He didn’t want to look back at her. “He didn’t make it, either.” 

“Who is th’ baby, Aaron?” Maggie asked him gently, changing the subject. He was grateful to her for that small kindness.

“Her name is Gracie. Rick found her instead of the guns.” His voice was hoarse. It cracked towards the end, and someone — Jesus — came hurrying up to him with a bottle of water.

“Here, you must be dehydrated,” Jesus murmured, his light brows knitted together in concern. “Drink. We can hear the story later.” 

Aaron shook his head, denying the offer. His sore throat was nothing compared to the sense of guilt that gnawed at his insides. “She needs help, a home, anything.” 

“We can give her that.” Maggie answered him firmly. The pregnant woman stepped forward, holding her arms out for Gracie. When Aaron hesitated, she stepped closer, her expression soothing. “Ya’ can trust me with her. ‘M not gonna hurt her.”

Reluctantly, Aaron handed her over, heart lurching when he saw that Maggie didn’t seem to have a firm grip. She fixed herself, and Aaron let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I’ve been handlin’ Judy since she was born,” Maggie reminded him. “I know how to handle infants.”

“I know, I know,” Aaron whispered. “I just . . .” 

“Worry about her.” Jesus finished for him. “What, you think that we can’t see? She’s going to see _you_ as her father and only parent, not any one of us.”

“Rick killed her father. Lord only knows what happened to her mother.” Aaron shook his head. “There’s no way she would see me as kin.” 

“You never know,” Jesus replied gently. “She might be very grateful to you for giving her the chance to grow up in a different life.”

Restlessly, Aaron shook his head, unsure if he agreed with the other man. Hands trembling, he rubbed the heels of his bloody palms against his eyelids, flinching away from them once he remembered that his hands were coated in Eric’s blood. He must have drawn in a sharp and pained gasp, for both Maggie and Jesus looked at him as if he were about to fall over.

“Aaron, ya’ need some rest.” Maggie tilted her head in that persuading way, her eyes boring holes into him. “Ya’ have had a rough day.”

“And where do you propose he rests?” A jeering voice, one that was too familiar to him, cut across Maggie. “Certainly not here. After what this one did,” Gregory’s thumb jerked in Jesus’ direction, “we have no extra room.”

“It ain’t y’ur decision,” Maggie answered calmly. “We have room for friends like Aaron.” 

“Is he going to feel _comfortable_ resting here knowing what Jesus did?” It was almost as if Gregory was _looking_ for a fight. 

“Gregory,” Jesus warned, “this isn’t the time.”

“When _will_ be the time to discuss it again, Jesus?” Gregory snapped.

Something akin to rage began to boil within Aaron. Exhausted and not in his right mind, hands curled into fists at his side, bright blues casting a sharp look over towards Maggie. She said nothing, just clutched Gracie closer to her chest.

“You let him _in_ here after his performance at the compound?” Aaron’s voice came out in a hiss. The wounds were still too raw. Gregory wasn’t with them; he was _against_ them.

“This is for the Hilltop to discuss, and it is _my_ decision.” Maggie’s tone was sharp. “He will be dealt with.”

“Not if those Saviors don’t deal with us first!” Gregory yelled, beginning to rile up the other survivors at Hilltop. Nervous glances were being shot around, and though Jesus was trying to keep the people calm, they were only too keen to take Gregory’s side. “Posting guards isn’t enough! After what they’ve done, they don’t deserve a second chance!”

“Peace, Gregory! That is what we’re after!” Jesus’ voice was lost to the encouraging words that the other survivors gave. 

The thin patience that Aaron had had left sapped away, leaving nothing but hollow anger at the man whom had betrayed them. Whom had taken Negan’s side more than once, whom had been nothing but their enemy since they had met.  In a way, he began to understand Rick; he began to understand the rash way he acted, and the way violence had become second nature. He _understood_ what it meant to become animalistic after a devastating loss. When that one person that kept you grounded and logical no longer was there to keep your worst impulses in check, horrible things came of it. 

Speed and strength was the last thing his body seemed to have, yet in this moment he was proven wrong. It seemed to take his long legs no time to cross the distance between himself and Gregory, arm pulling back in an unfamiliar way. Blunt and dirtied fingertips curled into his palms, cutting at his skin, adding to the blood that already stained his sunkissed palms. Knuckles pressed sharply against the thin skin, delivering a bruising punch to the man who just didn’t seem to know how to keep his mouth shut.

It wasn’t just one. That thin skin on his knuckles split, spilling blood onto his hands. Bruises were beginning to blossom across his hand, but the pain didn’t still Aaron. The pain made the moment speed up rather than slow down.

Maggie yelled at him, but her words sounded as if she were far away. He heard his name come from her lips, heard her begging for him to stop, but she had no power over him. Jesus’ voice added to the mix, but he was past the point of talking. 

Violence, right at this moment, was the only language that Aaron knew how to speak.

Hot blood splattered his face, getting into his eyes and burning. All he could smell was copper. His hand burned. Gregory’s face was coated in red, his nose caved in and crooked. The skin upon his cheeks were already swollen; bright pearly whites were shining red. His eyes were bloodshot whenever Aaron could catch a glimpse of them, and Gregory’s struggles were beginning to die down.

“Aaron!” Jesus’ voice sounded as if it was right in his ear. “Stop!” Hands hooked around his chest, a firm body yanking him off of Gregory. “This isn’t you! This isn’t you!”

He struggled, his aching muscles fighting of their own accord to break free of Jesus’ iron – clad grip. Jesus was grunting with the effort of keeping him still, yelling for someone, anyone, to get Gregory to their doctor.

Maggie’s strong voice was directing the people, Gracie out of her arms. She was staring at him, surprise and a hint of fear sparking in her beautiful depths.

“Are you calm?” Jesus demanded, and Aaron gave a snort of contempt. He never thought he’d understand the animalistic instincts that drove Rick and his people, that drove most of the other survivors that lingered in the wild, and now he did. He knew what it was. He _knew_ how easy it was to flick a switch, especially when grief clouded his mind. How was it fair that someone as toxic as _Gregory_ got to live when someone as pure as _Eric_ got to die? How was that _fair_? 

As if able to read his thoughts, Jesus spoke, his voice soft. “Life is unfair, Aaron. Gregory shouldn’t be alive right now, he shouldn’t, and it _sucks_. But Eric wouldn’t want you to turn out like this. To succumb to anger and rage.”

“How do you know what Eric would have wanted?” Aaron snapped, grief making him hostile. “You barely even _knew_ us.” 

Jesus’ grip tightened, as if he sensed that Aaron was tempted to break free. “Because if he’s as good as you, he wouldn’t have wanted you to change. Don’t let his death change you.”

Aaron wanted to tip his head back and wail. He wanted to say so many different things; say that his entire life was different now that Eric was gone, that his world was now narrow and dark and would never be the same. That he didn’t have the _closure_ that he so craved, and it was making him bitter. That he was angry at the world and all he wanted, all he _fucking wanted_ , was for Eric to be alive and for someone else — even him, for fucks sake — to take Eric’s place.

Words failed him. Instead of speaking, he sagged in Jesus’ grip, head falling forward. Slowly, unsure if this was a bluff or not, Jesus began to slacken his grip until all he was doing was propping Aaron up, keeping him from falling over completely.

“I just want him to be with me,” he whispered brokenly. “Why was it fair to take him? Why did they have to shoot _him_ instead of me?”

There was a knowing look in Jesus’ eyes, but his silence was the only answer that Aaron needed. Because Aaron still had a life to live. Because he still had work to do. Because his time wasn’t up yet.

But Eric’s, oh Eric, he had been living on borrowed time since he broke his ankle.


End file.
